


a fading reminder of what I use to be

by ohmcgee



Series: ohmcgee's mallverse [38]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Retail, M/M, Mental Illness, mallverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 18:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8113177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: "I think I just realized how old we are."





	

**Author's Note:**

> just a little of Bruce's pov

Bruce sees Harvey for lunch on Thursday. He lets Harvey pick the restaurant, a little Italian mom and pop type place in Burnside, listens to the story Harvey tells him about how he used to come here when he was a kid and they’d give him a free cannoli if he swept up before he left while they wait for their order to come out.

“You look good,” Bruce says, dipping his breadstick into the melted garlic butter and Harvey just snorts and fiddles with his silverware. They both know it’s not true. Harvey’s hand won’t stop shaking and there are dark, heavy bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in a week. When Sal brings their manicotti out, Harvey barely eats any of it. T

“You know what we should do,” Harvey says, licking tomato sauce off his fingers. “We should start playing together again. You know, just for kicks. Just to make sure we don’t get rusty and shit.” 

The spoon in Bruce’s coffee cup keeps clanking against the side of his cup every time Harvey jiggles his leg under the table. 

“Harvey,” he says softly, reaching under the table to still Harvey’s leg. “Did you stop taking your meds?”

Just like that Harvey’s eyes go cold and vacant and he stands up, pats his shirt down and starts digging out a cigarette. 

“Hey, you know, I just remembered I got a thing,” He says, pulling a couple of twenties out of his pocket and throwing them down on the table. “Thanks for lunch, Bruce. See ya.”

Bruce wants to go after him. He wants to grab him and shake him and ask him what the fuck is going on, why he’s off his meds, but he doesn’t because -- because part of him knows. He saw in it Harvey’s eyes the night he showed up on his doorstep, felt it in the kiss Harvey tried to coax him into while Jay was finishing up with the dishes and --

Bruce sighs and pushes the salad he didn’t eat around with his fork. He sends Jay another text, pays the bill, and takes a cab back to the office. 

 

: : :

 

Bruce and Damian eat leftovers for dinner, a soup that Jay had stuck in the freezer a month ago, the instructions for heating it up written on the bag in black magic marker. They talk about school, about Damian’s upcoming games and debate club, and Bruce learns more about Jonathan Kent than he ever wanted to know. He’s never even heard Damian discuss another classmate with so much enthusiasm before and it takes him a while, but --.

“Hold on,” Bruce says, the culmination of the past couple of weeks, of everything Damian’s been saying _finally_ hitting him. “Damian. Are you. You _like_ this boy?”

“Well, he _is_ my boyfriend,” Damian says petulantly and Bruce --

Good lord, Damian has a boyfriend. Damian _likes_ other people. Damian’s old enough to --

“Father,” Damian says. “Breathe. You’re turning purple.”

Bruce coughs. “Sorry,” he says. “Thats. That’s good, Damian. I’d -- like to meet him soon, if that’s okay with you.”

“I’d rather _not_ ,” Damian scoffs. “But apparently his parents want to meet you before we go to the movies together next Friday, so --”

“Ha,” Bruce laughs, a slight twinge of hysteria in the back of his throat. “You’re going where now?”

“Oh,” Damian says, then looks down at his bowl. “Jason was supposed to talk to you about that.”

“Ah,” Bruce says, gripping his spoon a little bit tighter. “Well. That’s. It’s fine. Next Friday, you say?”

“He’s coming back, you know,” Damian says quietly, picking at the edges of his napkin.

“Damian,” Bruce says, struggling to -- just struggling, really. “I don’t want you to worry about this. This is something Jay and I --”

“And I don’t understand why you’re not trying harder to get him back!” Damian says suddenly, pounding his fist on the table so hard his spoon flies out of his bowl, splattering soup everywhere. 

“Damian,” Bruce sighs and luckily, Damian seems to deflate about the same time. 

“I know,” Damian says, standing up and taking his bowl to the sink without another word.

They wash up together in silence, Damian washing and Bruce drying, and when they’re finished Damian tries to head up to his room, but Bruce just grabs him and pulls him to him, hugs Damian until Damian says _eugh_ and pushes him away. 

“He’ll be back, Father,” Damian says confidently, stopping at the first step before he heads up the rest of the stairs. “He just needs some time.”

“I know,” Bruce says, smiling. “But thank you, Damian.”

He waits until Damian gets upstairs to grab the pack of cigarettes Jay keeps in the cabinet above the refrigerator and steps onto the back patio. The moon is full and reflecting off the water in the pool and Bruce can’t help but think about the time Jay talked him into skinny dipping one night when Damian was spending the night at Colin’s house. How the moonlight flickered over Jason’s body as Bruce licked the water from his skin, how he came from nothing but Bruce’s fingers inside of him, gasping and grabbing at Bruce’s face like he couldn’t get close enough. That was the moment Bruce realized it. That was the moment he knew that this thing between them wasn’t just attraction, wasn’t just temporary; this was what love really felt like. 

He’s torn out of his memory by his phone buzzing in his pocket and Bruce’s pulse starts to race, then immediately drops when he sees the number flashing across the screen isn’t Jason’s. 

“Hello?” He answers the unfamiliar number, flicking the ashes off the end of his cigarette. 

“Hey, B,” Harvey’s thick, slurred voice says to him on the other line. It’s an immediate flashback to his youth, Harvey holding a bottle in one hand, walking up to pry some groupie off of Bruce just so he could take him back to the bus, fuck him within an inch of his life smelling like jack and cigarettes. “S’just like old times, ain’t it?”

“Harvey,” Bruce says. “What are you talking about? Is everything alright?”

“Sure, yeah,” Harvey says, laughing. “Might need a lil favor from your bank account though, brother.”

Bruce sighs, stomps out his cigarette. “Are you in Gotham, at least?”

“You know the place,” Harvey says, laughing, and yeah, Bruce guesses he does. 

 

: : :

 

He gets to the police station about an hour later, writes them a check and waits in the lobby another forty-five minutes before they finally get all of Harvey’s paperwork done and release him. Jim Gordon gives him a _look_ when they finally let Harvey out and says, “He’s your problem now, Wayne. Get him help or we’ll get it for him.”

“Well, _he’s_ still a barrel of fun,” Harvey snorts as they walk outside, pausing on the sidewalk to light up a cigarette “Hey, remember when we --”

“What’s going on,” Bruce interrupts harshly, snatching the cigarette out of Harvey’s mouth and throwing it into the street. “You’re off your meds. You’re drunk on a Thursday night, getting into _bar fights_ , Harvey? You could lose your license for christ’s sake.”

“Bingo,” Harvey says, clicking his tongue when he winks at Bruce and reaches out to give his tie a tug, twirl it around his finger.

“Wait,” Bruce says, grabbing Harvey’s shoulder and pulling him back. “Are you saying --”

“Oh come on,” Harvey laughs, knocking Bruce’s hand off of him. “I’m not a _lawyer_ , Bruce. Fuck, that’s was my last cigarette, you cunt.”

Bruce runs his fingers through his hair as Harvey paces the sidewalk, chewing his nails, eyes darting around everywhere like he’s afraid something’s going to jump out at him. 

This isn’t --

Harvey isn’t his responsibility anymore. Harvey’s the one that left _him_. Well, he let all of them down when he decided to leave the band, but it was Bruce who felt the most abandoned. Just when things were getting kind of serious between them Harvey changed on a dime, started to withdraw, and then just like that, he was gone off to law school, leaving Bruce all alone to figure out what he was going to do with his life. 

It had taken Bruce a fucking _decade_ to get over Harvey, to stop worrying himself to death each night, to stop himself from calling Harvey every day to make sure he was getting enough sleep, to make sure he was still taking his meds, that he wasn’t doing something stupid, but eventually he had to realize that Harvey made his decision and they both had to live with it, even if it seemed a whole lot easier on Harvey’s end. 

“Get in the car, Harvey,” Bruce says wearily and walks around to the driver side. They ride in silence all the way to Harvey’s place and Harvey tells him to fuck off when Bruce insists on walking him up. 

“I’m a big boy, Brucie,” he smirks, walking backwards up the stairs as Bruce follows him. “And we both know you’re not coming up for a quickie, so just run on home to the little wifey--”

“Shut up and walk,” Bruce says and shoves Harvey forward, but Harvey just grins and pushes back, pushes again until Bruce shoves him, hard, against the stairwell wall. “Stop.”

“Stop what?” Harvey asks, licking his lips. “Stop reminding you how pathetic you are, robbing the fucking cradle like some perv who can’t get it up for anything except --”

Bruce had forgotten how much it hurts to punch someone with a closed fist. His fingers throb when he pulls his hand back and Harvey’s lip is busted and _god_ , why did he _do_ that? Harvey probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying right now.

“God, Harvey,” Bruce starts. “I’m --”

Harvey doesn’t give him the chance to apologize and Bruce barely has enough time to duck out of the way when he swings at him, then catches Harvey around the waist and tackles him to the ground before he can get off another swing.

“Aw, Bruce,” Harvey grits out, twisting and thrashing beneath him until he gets his arm free. “If you wanted to wrestle you could’ve just --”

Bruce’s reflexes don’t do him any favors this time and he takes Harvey’s fist right to his nose, grunting and falling backwards when the pain explodes behind his eyes. 

“God _damn_ it, Harvey,” he snaps, clutching his nose and pulling his hand away with blood all over it. “I’m trying to _help_ you.”

“I know,” Harvey says, breathing heavily. He drags the back of his hand across his mouth then stands up, offers Bruce his hand. “Maybe one day you’ll fucking learn.”

 

: : :

 

Bruce follows Harvey up to his loft so he can wash the blood off of him and borrows a clean shirt, one that looks like he hasn’t tried to murder someone in. After he pats his face down, wincing at the soreness in his nose and wondering just how awful the bruise is going to be, Bruce peeks inside the medicine cabinet, frowning at what he sees.

“Nosey motherfucker, aren’t you,” Harvey says, standing in the doorway of his bedroom with his shirt unbuttoned. “I’ve got some perky c’s in there too if you feel like getting really nostalgic.”

“Cut the shit, Harvey,” Bruce says, tossing a full bottle of anti-psychotics at him. “Why you’d stop taking them?” 

“Because I’m a fuck up, _duh_ ,” Harvey grins, raising the beer in his hand to his mouth and taking a drink. “It’s what I do, darlin. Now come in here and let me look at that hand.”

Bruce knows he’s not going to get anything out of Harvey the mood he’s in right now, so he follows Harvey into the kitchen, takes the beer that Harvey opens up for him and has a seat on the couch. It’s the same brand Harvey used to drink years ago and it brings back a flood of memories, makes something behind his ribs twist and tighten, especially when Harvey reaches out for his hand and swabs something across his knuckles that stings.

“Pussy,” Harvey smiles when Bruce hisses through his teeth, then moves to the other one. “Didn’t used to be so delicate.”

“You didn’t used to take such cheap shots,” Bruce says, taking another pull from his beer as Harvey holds his other hand in his.

“Wrong,” Harvey grins and looks up at him, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and who knows what else. “I’ve always played dirty. Remember that time --”

“In Leeds,” Bruce laughs.

“Fuck yeah,” Harvey says, laughing with him. “That asshole was --”

“That asshole was three times your size,” Bruce laughs harder. “I still can’t believe you did that.”

“Hey, it don’t matter how big you are,” Harvey grins and falls back against the couch next to Bruce when he’s done. “You get a shot to the nuts with an eight ball, you’re going down.”

“And then you came after _me_ ,” Bruce says, wincing when he laughs so hard it causes pain to shoot up the bridge of his nose. “I was on your side!”

“Yeah well,” Harvey shrugs. “Pretty sure I’ve got angry Irish drunk tattooed on my forehead, what did you expect?”

Bruce just laughs and tilts his head back against the wall, opening his eyes when Harvey hisses through his teeth.

“Shit,” Harvey says, still laughing. “I forgot how much this shit hurts.”

Bruce feels a pang of guilt stab through him. “I shouldn’t have punched you,” he says, reaching over and turning Harvey’s face so he can inspect his lip. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Harvey says. “I deserved it.”

“Is that why you said it?” Bruce asks. “Those horrible things? Because you _wanted_ me to hit you?”

“Fuck,” Harvey sighs, cradling his head in his hands. “I didn’t -- you know I didn’t mean any of that shit, right?”

Bruce doesn’t say anything. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. When Harvey’s like this, when he’s off his meds, it’s hard to figure out what’s real and what’s the sickness, what he truly means and believes and what’s just pure impulse, raw and unfiltered. 

“Shit,” Harvey mutters again, roughly running his fingers through his hair and looks over at Bruce. “He’s good for you,” he says. “The kid. Jason. I can tell. He’s --”

“Gone,” Bruce says. The word feels too heavy and permanent in his mouth. He takes another couple of pulls from his beer until it’s empty. “He’s -- a week now. He’s not returning my calls.”

“Oh shit,” Harvey murmurs and sits back. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment before he says, “You wanna talk about it?”

“I’d rather you tell me what’s going on with you,” Bruce deflects. He’s not sure talking about his relationship with Jason is something they should do at any time, but especially when Harvey’s this unstable. 

Harvey just shrugs. “I’m fine, man.”

“You’re manic.”

Harvey sighs. “I’m better like this. Fuck you, don’t look at me like that. I am. I actually want to play now. You know I hadn’t even touched a fucking guitar in years? I wasn’t _me_ , Bruce. I was just some jerkoff in a suit pretending to be something I’m not.”

“And this is you?” Bruce asks. “Getting arrested for starting bar fights and getting your license revoked?”

“I didn’t lose it,” Harvey rolls his eyes, like Bruce is the one being overdramatic. “I’m just suspended. They had me defending some fuckbag racist who shot a kid for having the audacity to be brown in his lily white neighborhood and in the middle of the trial I decided fuck this shit, you know? This is bullshit. Anyway, apparently that’s frowned upon.”

“You don’t say.” Bruce snorts.

Harvey’s quiet for another few minutes, the two of them just sitting there, drinking their beer until Harvey lets out a deep breath and says, “I think. I just realized how old we are.”

“Just now?” Bruce smiles wryly, but Harvey’s not looking at him to see it, just picking at the label on his beer.

“Nah, it’s,” Harvey starts. “Been thinking about it for a while, I guess.”

Bruce lays his head back against the wall and sighs. Harvey’s visit a few weeks ago makes more sense now. “At least you don’t have a teenager.”

“Shit,” Harvey says. “You ain’t kidding. How is the spawn of satan, anyway?”

“He wants to go on a date,” Bruce mutters, taking another long pull from his bottle. “Christ, Harvey. How am I old enough to have a child that dates?”

“Fuck this,” Harvey agrees. “Fuck getting old. I wash my hands of it. What do you say we go down to that little strip joint in Burnside, get us some lap dances, score a little --”

“As exciting as that sound,” Bruce laughs gently. “I have to be up at six in the morning. And you definitely don’t need to be scoring anything except some sleep, maybe.”

“Right,” Harvey says, leg bouncing up and down steadily, giving a little nervous laugh. “Because that’s going to happen any time soon. Shit, Bruce. Why do I do this?”

“I don’t know, but I have a better question” Bruce says, reaching under the coffee table and grabbing the pack of cards on the bottom shelf. “Blackjack or Poker?”

There were so many nights they’d do this, before Harvey had been seen by a doctor, when they just thought he was just a high strung wildchild, a rockstar. Bruce remembers staying up with him until the sun came up countless times, lying next to Harvey in his bed on the bus or in some hotel room, listening to him talk and talk forever, playing cards or scrabble or fucking the life out of each other until he’d finally pass out. 

“Go home, Bruce,” Harvey says wearily, rubbing his dry, bloodshot eyes. “You’re not --”

“I will,” Bruce says, choosing a game and dealing out the cards. “Or are you afraid you’re going to owe me even more money than you already do?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Harvey says, picking his cards up reluctantly, and Bruce just smiles, peels his socks off and gets comfortable on the couch, then slaps his cards down on the table and grins.

“Twenty-one.”

“Motherfucker, I hate you,” Harvey shakes his head and laughs, snatches Bruce’s cards up and starts shuffling them again. 

They play for hours, catch up on each other lives, talk about how much they miss being on the road, miss playing with each other and the girls, and by the time the sun comes up Harvey’s finally passed out on the other side of the couch, still clutching his beer against his chest like a security blanket. 

Bruce sneaks out quietly so he doesn’t wake him and heads to work in the same clothes he wore yesterday, calling Alfred on the way to make sure Damian gets off to school on time. 

“Getting a bit old for slumber parties, aren’t we sir,?” Alfred asks and where anyone else would hear passive aggressiveness, Bruce has known Alfred for so long that he can tell it’s mostly concern worrying his tone. 

“Getting too old for a lot of stuff,” Bruce mutters, touching the bruise high on his cheek before he hangs up.

 

: : :

 

When Jay finally comes home, after they move to the bedroom and Bruce fucks him until his legs give out and they’re a heap of sweaty, sticky limbs Jason touches his face lightly and says, “Holy shit, how did I just notice this?”

Bruce just chuckles and takes Jason’s hand away, kisses the back of his knuckles. “It’s nothing.”

“ _Bruce_ ,” Jason says and Bruce sighs. 

“I won’t keep anything from you,” he says. “But I’m afraid of how it’s going to sound.”

“Um,” Jason says. “I ran away from you to go party and dance and drink myself stupid and oh yeah, by the way, I punched Dickie in the face.”

Bruce’s eyes widen.

“Uh huh,” Jason says. “Now it’s your turn.”

Bruce sighs and holds Jay tighter in his arms, kisses his forehead, his eyelids, and tells him everything he’s been doing since he left. He tells him about bailing Harvey out of jail, tells him how he ended up with his face black and blue, and Jay just takes it all in stride. Bruce isn’t sure he’d react the same in the same situation, but Jason is nothing if not a constant surprise. 

“He’s sick,” he tells Jay, lacing their fingers together. “He’s not taking his meds and...he’s unraveling. I’ve seen it happen before and -- it was terrifying, Jay.”

Jay just looks up at him, brings Bruce’s mouth to his and kisses him. “Then you need to be there for him.”

Bruce lets out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Why,” he asks, carding his fingers through Jason’s hair. “After how he treated you, why are you taking this so well?”

“If he was off his meds then it wasn’t really him,” Jay says, like someone who has experience with this sort of thing. “And he’s important to you, so he’s important to me.”

“But we,” Bruce says. “You know that Harvey and I --”

“Yeah,” Jason says, biting his lip. “I know. But you know about -- about Dickie. You think for one second that you could keep me away from him?”

“No,” Bruce says. “Jay, I’d never ask that.”

“Duh,” Jay says. “And I’d never ask that of you and Harvey either.”

If possible, Bruce holds onto him even tighter. “You’re amazing, you know.”

“I’m a mess,” Jay laughs, drawing little symbols on Bruce’s back with his index finger. “But I think I’m starting to figure shit out.”

“Mm,” Bruce says, kissing his jaw. “And what’s that?”

“You love me,” Jason says, blushing lightly on his cheeks and Bruce is suddenly overcome with emotion, with the fact that Jason’s _just now_ realizing how much he means to him, as if he hadn’t fallen completely and utterly for him that first time Jason took him for chili dogs. 

Bruce wraps his arms around Jay and pulls him on top of him, kisses him for so long his mouth feels bruised and raw, then rolls Jay onto his back and fucks him again. This time slow and sweet, just memorizing the way they feel together, the perfect way they _fit_ together, and this time when Bruce comes he cries out Jason’s name and stays inside of him for as long as he can manage.

He almost passes out just like that until Jason drums his fingers on his shoulder and says, “How do you feel about Buffy?”

Bruce squints. “That girl you’re always watching on tv? She’s not really my type, but --”

Jason swats him in the back of the head. “I think it’s what I’ll call my dog.”. 

Bruce just smiles down at him, every single part of him completely in love with everything about this beautiful, amazing person, and says, “That’s a terrible name for a dog.”

He supposes he deserves getting kicked off the bed for that.


End file.
